


Option 833,333

by hearden



Series: Triskelion [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, F/F, in the inevitable future where Shaw is back with Team Machine, these are all like acute amounts and mentions of it so...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-03-07 01:31:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3155873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearden/pseuds/hearden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post 4x11. 8 months after Shaw's sacrifice. "Maybe someday" does not just come all at once. It starts with little, subtle things; that's the language they've invented for themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Salt In The Wound

**Author's Note:**

> Aftermath of 4x11. Obviously, nobody's sure yet when Shaw's coming back, but I'll go ahead and assume nobody can hold Shaw for a long while.
> 
> Idk, this was really long-winded. I have that problem.

_"What you need, Ms. Shaw, is to get yourself cleaned up."_

_"Bite me, Finch."_

Of course Shaw could always rely on Finch to hold her back from jumping back into the fray of things. Hadn't he ever heard there was no rest for the wicked? At worst, she was mildly chaotic neutral and destructive, and that was grounds enough to justify insomnia. Honestly, nothing stopped her from going against Finch's _suggestion_ \- because it was only ever that - but she relented. This once. However, Shaw didn't hesitate to snap out her dissatisfaction and roll her eyes, reassuring Finch with a low, grumpy huff that she wasn't stepping back for the team or anything remotely humane like that. She was cooperating and taking a moment for herself to recuperate, not obeying Finch's orders - there was a difference.

That difference, though, was persistently and annoyingly gnawing at her mind as she closed the door to the bathroom behind her and flicked on the lights. Shaw certainly didn't _need_ to take a breather, but at the least, she could respect personal hygiene and wash the smell of death off of her. It hadn't bothered Reese or Root, but perhaps the stench combined with the lingering murder in her eyes was beginning to creep Finch out. Not that that was a particularly bad thing to witness.

The bathroom itself was small and rather dull and average. Shaw was used to worse and also had seen better, but she wasn't going to waste her time dwelling on how boring the light brown tiles were or how irritating the faint water marks on the wall paint were. Finch had bought her some time from Samaritan and checked her into a hotel room, and she was moderately grateful for that, even if she hoped by this point that Samaritan and its operatives had forgotten about her. A dead Sameen Shaw was of no concern to them anymore. Exhaling a sigh into the silence, Shaw pinned her reflection in the mirror with a cold gaze. As always, she saw static noise.

Running a hand through her hair, she tugged it out of the ponytail it had been beaten into and discarded the hairband with a careless toss that sent it sliding around the counter. Her scalp ached, vaguely, as her head fell down onto her shoulders. Hours of being tugged on - and certainly not in the fashion she would prefer - would do that. Gripping the hem of her shirt, she peeled it off of her skin and threw it into the trash can. It was old - incredibly so - and matted with blood. Finding new clothes after this wouldn't be a challenge at all. Shaw reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, growling lowly to herself as the straps grazed the burns between her shoulder blades. Samaritan operatives had had a pleasant time, no doubt, dragging her all over the place hard enough to create the unfavorable type of carpet burn. As a force of habit, Shaw reached to unbuckle her belt, but her hands gripped at empty fabric. Right, she'd forgotten that they wouldn't dare allow her to have anything she could even preposterously fashion an escape plan with. Well, at least that gave her something to mark down for purchase later. Grumbling to herself, Shaw unbuttoned her pants and tugged them down to her ankles, hooking her thumbs around her panties last minute to drag them down as well. Those went into a pile in the trash can in the corner, also. Lastly, she removed her socks, making sure to do so slowly; if anything, her feet were the worst to come out of the havoc, blistered and torn with cuts that had long healed over. Minor wounds compared to the ones that were painted on her canvas of a body, but she was still putting the most pressure on them just by standing, nevertheless.

Dragging out a long sigh, Shaw looked back at her reflection, assessing the real damage on her body. She had taken time to fix herself up when she could, in captivity, but that wasn't really a luxury she had. First aid kits weren't just something given to prisoners, and medical care was the last thing on Samaritan's list of objectives for her. Stitches, though. She needed to properly sit down and look at every gash and laceration before anything else. Bruises were fine, however... Shaw probed the underside of her breasts with a hand, huffing out a grumble as she felt the tenderness of the muscle there from the wire in her bra. That was one of the pains she had that _wasn't_ from torture, thankfully. Wasn't exactly pleasant wearing the same clothes while dripping blood from all over. Her eyes ran over the rest of her naked figure as she rotated a few times, trying to get a feel for how many injuries she had sustained. Everything had somewhat healed over by now, but it was better to know so she wouldn't be tearing something out on the field later.

Bruising on her ribs on both sides - somewhere between yellow and brown. A sickly color was the least descriptive way of telling it. Shaw warily prodded the patches of skin and winced. By the looks of the inflammation and coloring, there were a few small subcutaneous hematomas scattered around her abdominal area, but nothing too severe that she'd have to resort to any drastic measures to recover. Just some rest, ice, compression, and elevation would do fine.

Cuts, all over her body. Arms, legs, shoulders, feet, face. Healed. In time, they would fade; some would become insignificant scars to blend in with all that she had accumulated; others would disappear, forgotten.

The star-shaped tears in her abdominal region that would most likely turn into scars - bullet wounds credited to Martine's sidearm. They had healed over decently for injuries that had constantly been opened up over and over again through bodily abuse. Shaw shifted her weight and tested the pain - still a bit raw, but definitely tolerable. Of course, it was all tolerable to her. Pain was nothing more than an insignificant reminder.

Bruises on her knuckles where the skin had been scraped raw.

Indents in the skin on her wrists where rope, handcuffs, and, even once, her belt had been. She kept _magically_ escaping their restraints, so they kept putting more on her. Which, as it turned out, wasn't meant to last, anyway. Shaw chuckled lowly to herself, amused, and rubbed a thumb over the marks on her wrists; they were sore, but so was every other part of her.

The blisters on her feet from being hung from the ceiling and forced to stand without resting.

Welts where her own belt had struck her. Embossed rashes from being dragged across the floor to emphasize the pain.

A laceration on the posterior side of her left lower leg, right on her calf. Shaw remembered the pain of it as came dangerously close to destroying her posterior tibial artery. It was one of the more recent wounds - delivered when Samaritan and its measly minions had planned on leaving her for dead, assholes - and was still healing over, while most of her other wounds had sustained stability.

A gash that cut open her left hand - thankfully, that was sealed up by now, but she would always carry that scar with her. The tissue from her palm had tried to fix up the hole, but it could never replace what had been carved out when she daringly (some would say stupidly, but that was certainly debatable) closed her hand around the blade coming for her throat.

Okay, well, perhaps it was a portion of stupidity.

Sighing, Shaw shrugged the tension out of her shoulders, growling as her motion stretched and compressed the wounds on her back into a state of discomfort. Whatever. She'd be full of that in a few minutes. Turning away from the mirror, she overstepped the rug outside of the shower and calmly entered the curtained stall, ignoring the cold burn from the tiles that was irritating the undersides of her feet. She turned the water on and momentarily drew her shoulders together as the only indication that the initially cold water had any effect on her. As the water turned warm and then, eventually, hot, it began filling in the cracks of her skin, where tissues and cells had been ripped out, and instilling her with a sense of dull bodily aching all over. Shaw definitely felt the soft sting of water falling onto her tender armor disguised as skin, but it made little difference to her.

She reached for the hotel's measly little travel-sized bottle of shampoo and was in the midst of applying a slight dab to her hand when there was a sudden shut of a door. Shaw froze, replacing the bottle back on its shelf and glancing around to calculate a plan of attack. The shampoo in her hand could easily be used to briefly blind the intruder; the shower head wasn't detachable, but she could reach it if she jumped and use it to swing a well-placed kick. But, a gun. Shaw did _not_ have a gun. Not that she necessarily needed one to defend herself, but the accessory would be nice to have on hand.

Vaguely, she heard footsteps on the carpet of the other room - the hotel room only consisted of a small open floor plan with a bed, kitchen, miniature dining table, and a closed off bathroom - and stiffened, stilling her breathing. The water was still running, bleeding into her eyes by now, but Shaw kept herself still.

The footsteps neared the bathroom door.

"Hey, _sweetie_ ," came the muffled greeting from the other side. That unmistakable playful edge like a serrated knife.

Shaw cursed loudly enough for Root to hear and rolled her eyes, letting more water droplets in to sting her eyeballs. "Will you ever have the decency to knock like a normal human being?" There was laughter on the other side, and Shaw grumbled to herself, going back to her shower.

She resumed washing her hair, weaving her fingers into strands that hadn't been properly cared for for, well, a damn long time. With every tangle and knot that she found, she made a small noise of dissatisfaction in her throat and tugged at it until it came free. Shaw hadn't forgotten about Root standing outside the bathroom, and it seemed as if Root didn't want her to forget, either, as the bathroom door quickly opened and shut quietly. Shaw sighed, feeling the other woman's presence in the damp atmosphere now. Fantastic.

"May I come in?" Root inquired, politely, but Shaw would have bet a million bucks that Root was smiling that smirk that irritated her so.

Rinsing off the shampoo in her hair, Shaw shook her head to mirror the amount of 'no' she was feeling at the moment. "Sure," she snarled, huffing out a heavy sigh purposely loud enough for Root to hear through the double-layered shower curtain, "You've already broken into my apartment, tased me, and broken into my hotel room. Why not just barge into my shower, too?"

Root _giggled_ \- Shaw felt her irritation spiking - and there was the distinct sound of shuffling around. God, the woman was taking off her damn clothes. "Honestly, Sameen, at this point, you should be expecting me by now. But, since you never do, isn't it a pleasant surprise when I show up?" There was an utterly undesirable amount of teasing in Root's voice, and Shaw had to pull herself through a deep breath to prevent herself from yanking the curtain open and strangling Root.

"I'd rather get shot," she declared, loudly, her voice echoing and bouncing off of the bathroom walls. Her anger seemed to only fuel Root on, so Shaw just averted her concentration back on taking her shower. She reached for the bottle of conditioner, but abrupt movement in the curtain stopped her. Root stepped through, fully naked, with a smug grin on her features. Right between Shaw and the shelf containing her washing necessities.

Honestly, she wasn't going to _check_ Root out. There was nothing remotely sexual about the other woman just blatantly barging into her shower stall, so Shaw felt no need to satisfy her curiosity about what Root looked like without the basics of clothes on. On the other hand, Root didn't appear to have that kind of self-control and shamelessly ran her gaze over Shaw's body, going from head to toe and then returning. Shaw watched with a clenched jaw, observing that Root's smug features gradually smoothed over into a clearly restrained form of concern as she noted the individual scars and bruises she could see on Shaw's anterior side. The look of concern reminded Shaw of that day at the Stock Exchange, and she quickly brushed off that train of thought. If anything, it had given her grief for a long while, and she refused to confront that grief while standing in a shower with Root just outright staring at her injuries. And her naked body.

Not that she was shy about nudity or anything. Not at all. It was just rather unpleasant to think about the last real time she had seen Root. Fusco had been the one to interrupt Shaw's already-in-motion escape plan from Samaritan operatives, and he had been the one to drive her off after intercepting Finch's call about getting her to a safe place where she could recover. John and Root had definitely been with Fusco, but Shaw hadn't seen them in her exit. Probably off somewhere else creating numerous diversions.

So, this was the first time Root had seen her since the Stock Exchange, and it was in a state where all she would see were discolored bruises and mediocre-level healed-over gashes. Tough.

Taking advantage of Root's momentary daze, Shaw reached around her and grabbed the bottle of conditioner, popping the cap and squeezing some out onto her hand. She glanced up while doing so, just to note if Root had regained some of her quippy, psychotic demeanor yet, but Root was now utterly entranced by Shaw's hand movements. "Root," she snapped out, sharply, and the brunette visibly flinched, blinking back at Shaw a few times. Shaw immediately noticed a split second where Root struggled to get out her next words before replacing her uneasiness with a familiar smirk.

"It's like a painting," Root elaborated, trying to excuse her staring or brush it off as flirting (whichever one, Shaw didn't quite care). What was _truly_ fascinating was how tuned into Root's micro-expressions Shaw felt she was now. Every little thing she noticed. A whole new doorway had been opened for her, and whether or not that was from what had transpired between them at the Stock Exchange or not was a mystery to her. Perhaps, she had always been tuned into Root's expressions - Shaw always had a knack for the details, regardless - but had subconsciously chosen to lower the volume. After all, she hadn't had to hear Root's cries of agony any time before this.

Shaw rolled her eyes and worked her fingers into her hair as she tossed the conditioner bottle back on the shelf. "Sure, whatever," she muttered, exasperatedly, "Shitty painting, if you ask me." After a minute of silence or so, with her fixing the last of the tangles in her hair, Shaw turned around and stepped under the showerhead again, letting out a low hum as the water brushed past all of her exposed injuries again.

Her back was finally to Root, and Shaw swore she heard a soft gasp, which caused her to freeze, water dripping conditioner suds down into her eyes. Grumbling at the sting, Shaw closed her eyes but stayed completely still, hoping to receive the rest of Root's reaction. When Root made no other sound, Shaw resumed her rinsing, weaving her fingers through the strands to thoroughly clean her hair. She did, indeed, want to turn around and see Root's facial features and read her reaction, but doing so would probably cause the reaction to disappear under a facade of shameless flirting and unabashed witty remarks. So, she muted her curiosity and finished washing her hair.

When she was done, Shaw wiped the water off of her face with the back of her hand and held Root's gaze for half of a minute before slipping past her in the limited space of the stall. Root felt into step rather easily, actually managing to get under the showerhead without once brushing against Shaw's body. Which, honestly, was unexpected. Shaw had anticipated something that gave her a reason to snap at Root, but well.

The water wasn't beating down on her anymore, now, but she still felt the pinpricks everywhere on her body, a reminder that most of her injuries were nowhere near fully recovered and that there would still be an ache to feel every time she moved. Huffing, she crossed her arms and watched as Root closed her eyes and washed herself, moving with a sort of lean fluidity that Shaw could only describe as that of a feline.

Technically, she could just walk out of the shower, but. Well, but nothing. There was nothing stopping her from doing just that and leaving Root to finish off her own shower.

Shaw gritted her teeth and rolled her eyes at herself. Whatever.

"Sweetie," Root murmured in a soft drawl that made Shaw purse her lips in annoyance, "Hand me the shampoo." Shaw huffed and rolled her eyes up at the ceiling, choosing to let Root wait it out. When Root noticed that Shaw wasn't cooperating, she opened her eyes and smiled a knowing grin as she reached around Shaw's head to grab what she needed. To her credit, Shaw didn't budge. But, she was an outstandingly short figure, so.

While Root was washing herself, eyes closed as she apparently preferred, Shaw probably could have taken the moment to satisfy her curiosity and rake her gaze over the other woman's body, but honestly, she didn't feel in the mood for it. Root was on some sort of hyperactive, flirtatious sex drive 100% of the time; Shaw, on the other hand, was not like that. She wouldn't say she valued sex; it was a _carnal_ need. Her libido was a fluctuating thing, as opposed to Root's whose seemed to be jammed in the ON position. Instead, Shaw pressed her back against the shower wall and leaned on it to give relief to some of her tired limbs at the cost of her back igniting in pain. She held back a grunt of irritation, and it came out like a hiss, causing Root to open her eyes.

Shaw saw the question hovering on the edge of Root's lips and shoved it back inside the brunette's thoughts with a hard glare. Root returned the sentiment with a soft chuckle and went back to cleaning herself. That didn't, however, mean they would fall back into their silence, as Shaw had preferred.

"See, I missed that from you, Sameen," Root said, tilting her head down so she could speak without getting water in her mouth. Shaw was left preoccupying herself with looking at Root's hands running through her hair. "That hostility that I know is _just_ for me."

The statement caused Shaw to snort. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

She knew that was a mistake the moment after she said it, honestly, because, in her mind, Shaw drew up the same response Root uttered a mere millisecond later.

Root glanced at her and smirked, widely, "Oh, hopefully, I'll have some help with that, soon."

Absolutely infuriating.

Shaw stayed leaning against the wall for at least another few minutes as Root finished her shower and turned the showerhead off. She didn't budge when all the sound stopped except for the dripping of the last few droplets onto the tile flooring. Smirking (God, would her face just stay stuck like that if she did it long enough? - Shaw certainly hoped not because that smirk was not something she could tolerate seeing every single minute), Root pulled the curtain open and let in a gust of cool breeze, despite the whole bathroom being subjected to hot water and steam for _at least_ thirty minutes. Shaw eyed the dripping showerhead and waited for Root to grab a towel from underneath the sink counter before getting out herself.

The difference in temperature between the shower stall and the bathroom itself was enough to make goosebumps rise on Shaw's skin, but she blatantly ignored it and forced her body against shivering as a defense mechanism. She made a move to grab a towel, but Root stopped her, already having an extra in her hand, and wrapped it around her torso, much to Shaw's annoyance.

Shaw leaned her head back as Root made a whole deal out of knotting the towel in the front for her (while grinning ever so smugly) and rolled her eyes. Still incredibly infuriating. "I'm completely competent enough to tie my own towel, thank you." That only made a certain twinkle enter Root's eyes, and she leaned closer, dangerously invading Shaw's personal bubble. (As if barging into her shower hadn't been enough, though.)

"I know. But I've got you, Sameen."

Apathetically, Shaw pulled her lips into a thin line at that and smacked Root's hands away from her towel.

Root straightened up, grabbed her pile of clothes from the counter, and turned, opening the door to head over to the other room. She paused for a moment then nodded over her shoulder at the trash can where Shaw had stuffed her own old clothes, "I brought you some new clothes. They're on the bed." She winked - to which Shaw broke her personal record and rolled her eyes for the fifth time in a mere half hour - and closed the door behind her.

The thing was, with Root out of the scene, Shaw's awareness suddenly became a fraction clearer. Or maybe it was because of the steam. Yeah, sure, she could always blame it on the steam.

Her eyes landed on the small mat that covered the tiles on the floor right in front of the bathroom door. Root's bare, wet footprints were still visible - dark spots on the light material - but Shaw noted something else that stood out. Blood. Not a lot, but definitely traces of blood, diluted with the water from the shower.

It took her a moment, but she glanced down at her own feet and the mat she was standing on outside of the shower itself and saw the same thing, except in a more mild manner. Shaw swallowed dryly, frowning slightly at the sight of her bloodied feet. They weren't _covered_ in blood, but enough to show that blood had been trickling onto them. The first place Shaw checked was the answer, of course, as she had guessed. She gazed at the diagonal laceration on the back of her left calf and gently prodded the skin around it with her thumb. The cut welled up slightly, and a few drops of blood leaked out, tracing a bright red path down the back of her lower leg to her heel.

Shaw averted her attention to the shower stall and pulled back the curtain, glancing at the floor. The water had washed away most of any evidence, but there were still a few distributed droplets of blood sitting on the tile floor, mixing with the remnants of water that had yet to evaporate. Shaw let go of the curtain and licked her lips, brow furrowing in thought. Root must have seen it, even if Shaw herself hadn't noticed the whole entire time. Her whole body was in a dull ache, so the gash opening back up again hadn't really alerted her, which was, admittedly, a sort of first for her.

But, Root _had_ to have seen it.

She had to have known.

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Shaw walked out of the bathroom, a good fifteen minutes later, her towel still knotted around her body. Her hair had been blown dry, but she left it down, flowing over her shoulders. Maybe later, she'd put it back up in her traditional ponytail, but right now, it felt a lot more free to just leave it. Root was lounging on the bed (fully clothed, now, at least), aimlessly flipping through channels, and flashed her a smile, "Hello, _Sameen_." Root always said her name like it was a toy grenade that she was having fun playing around with. Shaw narrowed her eyes and said nothing in response, letting her silence answer for her. She grabbed the clothes Root had left on the bedspread for her and bristled as the brunette brushed past her to go dry her hair.

As she dropped her towel onto the bed and tugged on the clothes, Shaw noticed - with a frown - that Root had mysteriously gotten all of her sizes perfect, even her undergarments. That was... unsettling, to say the least. Shaking her head to herself, Shaw fiddled with the grey t-shirt she had on, shrugging her shoulders to let herself get used to the soft cotton material. It'd been awhile since, well, since she had worn anything that wasn't soaked through with blood and sweat.

Remembering her plans for rest and recovery before Root had so politely broken into her room, Shaw checked the freezer and grabbed the ice tray she found there. Two paper towels and twelve ice cubes later, she was sprawled out on the bed, eyes closed and hand steadily holding the makeshift ice pack to her abdomen. Her shirt was pushed up to her torso, which she only realized as being significant when Root walked out of the bathroom and grinned instantly upon seeing her. "Aw-"

"Do _not_ ," she snarled, shooting Root a glare filled with daggers.

Root only playfully rolled her eyes and sat down - or rather, plopped down, jarring Shaw with the mattress sinking for a second - on the bed, leaning over and tracing a finger over one of the bruises on Shaw's hip. "Don't be like that, Sameen," she pouted (to which Shaw edged her side away from Root's hand and rolled her eyes so hard she almost gave herself a headache), "Harold doesn't want you to go back out there and break something so soon." Shaw heard it, tacked on the end of the sentence, even though Root didn't say it. _When we just got you back._ "You're stuck with me for now," Root declared, batting her eyelashes and smiling in a way that would've looked cute on a tiny child but only looked insufferably smug on an adult woman of thirty-six years.

"Great," Shaw huffed, letting her head fall back onto the pillows. She could feel the hunger gnawing at her stomach and thought to herself that it might as well go to her advantage that she was the gravely injured one here. "If I'm stuck with you for now," she drew out, receiving a spark of interest in Root's eyes in anticipation, "Could you _at least_ get me some food?"

Root's grin could have knocked over a telephone pole if it was lightning, honestly. "Absolutely, _honey_."

_God._

The bed shifted as Root got up and paused, eyes lost in the space between the wall and the ceiling. Shaw could tell that she was getting the Machine's help on locating somewhere nearby to retrieve food. "How do you feel about chicken?"

"It's fine," Shaw murmured, already placing her free hand over her eyes to block out the lights of the hotel room, "Try to aim for grilled, if that's an option." She heard Root chuckle and mutter something about being healthy before the sound of the room door closing signal Root's exit.

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When Root came back, Shaw hadn't moved an inch. Curiously, the brunette set down the rather large plastic bag she had carried over from the fast food place down the street on the small dining table in the room and went over to the bed, raising a hand to catch Shaw by surprise and prod her awake. She had gone nowhere near the bed, though, when Shaw grumbled. "Don't you even dare."

Shaw cracked open an eye and glanced at Root, unamused - Root, as usual, wasn't fazed a fraction. She slid the ice pack an inch over to the center of her stomach and breathed out a small sigh of relief. "What'd you get me?" Her eyes followed the brunette as Root retrieved two plates from the kitchen cabinet and began unpacking the food from the bag.

"Hm, a bucket of grilled chicken, green beans, corn, mashed potatoes, box of biscuits." The smell of the food was started to bleed into the air as Root removed the barrier of the plastic bag, and Shaw groaned, scrambling to her feet in one fluid motion and taking quick strides to the dining table. Her sudden appearance at Root's side was greeted with a smirk and the offering of a 20 oz. iced tea bottle. Shaw glanced at the bottle then did an item switch and shoved her ice pack at Root, who only kept smiling ( _honestly_ ) as she went to toss it back into the freezer.

Shaw pulled out a chair and slumped into it, blinking for a moment at the sight of all the food in front of her. God, when was the last time she had even had a proper meal? "You know," Root informed her in a reminding tone that told Shaw she probably didn't want to know, "This is supposed to be a family meal for five." Shaw rolled her eyes and reached into the bucket, grabbing two drumsticks at the same time. She tore into one with her teeth and nearly _moaned_ , feeling her stomach already flipping with the prospect of a taste that wasn't her own blood trickling down her throat. "Root," she muttered between bites, "I haven't had a meal for _one_ for a _long_ time. I can afford a meal for five right now."

She was mostly focused on her own eating, devouring food at the rate she was putting it onto her own plate, but she still had eyes on Root. Where Shaw was scarfing down her food like a wolf, Root was eating at a slower rate. They exchanged glances a few times, but for the most part, everything was silent. Shaw was glad, even, because she'd rather eat her meal in peace than have to deflect sexual innuendos and flirting for forty-five minutes.

Since they were both eating and Shaw had a moment to herself, she turned her thoughts inward. Wasn't something she did _too_ often - she wasn't some kind of "inner self" seeker - but she looked frequently enough to know herself. She took the time to analyze her thoughts because if she didn't know herself, that was a weakness any enemy could take advantage of. Shaw glanced up and, once again, caught Root's brief look of restrained concern. That set her thoughts on the right track.

She remembered the pain of the shots fired into her abdomen. That would never leave her.

She recalled Root's hand on her arm, tugging her backward, holding her back from self-sacrifice. Holding her back from her _duty_.

The kiss hadn't been nothing, but it wasn't what haunted Shaw for nights after. It hadn't been what kept her alive. What kept her alive had been the hollowness of the air after she shoved Root away and the brief flash of realization on the brunette's face.

When she ran to jam the elevator override button, she kept her eyes fixed on Martine and the other Samaritan operatives, even though she heard Root's cries in the midst of the shootout.

Agony during explosions.

No firearm would ever be loud enough to cover up that sound, no explosive strong enough to pop her eardrum and prevent her from hearing it.

Root calling out her name, crying.

Shaw hadn't looked because she knew if she had, Martine would catch on to the fact that the team was her leverage against Shaw. That was a bunch of lives she wasn't willing to risk - John was already wounded, FInch was the key, Fusco had a kid, and Root... she had to keep her eyes in front of her.

But, _God_ , those screams. That would never leave her, too.

"Sameen?"

Shaw blinked and jolted, almost knocking over her drink. Root's arm jerked forward, and she caught it before it rolled off the table, setting it back beside Shaw's plate. Brown eyes studied her, and for a moment, Shaw wished for that highly inappropriate flirtation to pop back up. "What?" she drawled, quirking an aggressive eyebrow.

They held eye contact for a total of fifty-two seconds before Root responded, fluidly transitioning back into her suggestive and flirtatious exterior. Shaw almost smiled at seeing that smirk, for the first time that night. It was a lot better than thinking about- well.

"I'm glad you're back." Shaw scowled, sensing some afterthought that would make her regret opening herself to conversation. "It was getting lonely not having anyone to annoy endlessly."


	2. Achilles & Patroclus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, at this point, I'm just winging it, and I have no idea what's really going on. I'm pretty sure I shouldn't have tried Root's POV so quickly (because I'm used to writing Shaw, tbh, and her thoughts come easier to me and I'm better at writing a third-person external observation of Root rather than her actual thoughts), but you know [Shaw voice] whatever.
> 
> However, I would _really_ appreciate any feedback/criticism, especially on how I wrote Root's inner self-ness. Like, dislike, absolute burning hatred? It'd help to tell me in the future if I should just stick to Shaw or not. :3

Every movement she made caused her to brush against the bed in the wrong way, which, by default, set her injuries on fire. Shaw had a high tolerance for pain, but that was entirely mental. Physically, her body still ached and hurt. She just ignored it, for lack of a better word.

Someone who didn't ignore it?

Root.

If Shaw wasn't careful, she'd give Root opportunities to let her eyes linger, and when Shaw would turn around, she'd see that flash of restrained concern over and over again. It was a reminder of what she'd seen on Root's face the day at the Stock Exchange. Shaw had been surprised, honestly, to see that amount of worry bleeding through those eyes. It nagged at her that she could feel it on the edges of their conversations, now, almost as if Root was having a tough time holding it back. The thought was rather unsettling - Root being emotionally compromised off the field could slip into the field. That in itself could cause all kinds of problems, if left unchecked. Shaw chose to ignore the fact that it already kind of had. Dwelling on those kind of things were counterproductive, especially in the situation she was in. Her cover had already been blown by Samaritan and, at worst, the ASI and its operatives were still searching for her fugitive self. At best, Samaritan presumed her dead and had averted its focus to its other targets. Which, considering the fact that Finch, John, and Root were some of those targets, wasn't any more reassuring or comforting.

She wasn't the type of person to think about _relationships_ of all things, even if she was temporarily sheltered from danger in a mid-rate small hotel room.

Shaw glowered at Root, who had pulled up a chair against the wall and at a spot where she could persistently stare at the bed, and scowled, her lips curling into a disgruntled sneer, "Stop looking at me like that."

Shrugging, Root feinted confusion and shook her head, "Honestly, sweetie, I have no idea what you're talking about. But, I'm sure it's hard enough for you to go to sleep while you bleed all over the hotel's poor bedspread." Shaw kept her gaze steady, holding out the following silence with a glare. Inside, she was hoping, even for a second, if she could make Root fall back into that worry that she never showed when Shaw was looking directly at her. But, what would that prove that she didn't already know? Almost defiantly (as if she had caught onto Shaw's objective), Root quirked the corner of her lips into a smooth smirk, loosening her shoulders in a light sign of flirtation.

"See something you like, sweetie?"

"Absolutely _not_."

With a gruff eyeroll, Shaw settled into a position that gave her the least pressure on her back and turned onto her right side, throwing her line of vision at the door. The ice from earlier had certainly helped to ease the ache of her bruises a bit, which made sleeping on her side a lot better than sleeping on her back. The raw tenderness of her back hadn't faded, and everything she did that made it prickle was probably not helping whatsoever. Her eyes lingered on the hotel door for a brief moment then flickered around the room, assessing the open bathroom door, the kitchen, Root's languid form observing her observe everything else.

Root waved her fingers, almost mockingly, from the corner of Shaw's vision, "Night, _Sameen_."

Shaw rolled her eyes again and finally closed them, pulling in a deep breath to lull herself to sleep. However, she wasn't the type of person who fell asleep quickly, so she was subjected to listening to the noises of the surrounding environment.

Lull of the air conditioning system.

Soft rumble of the laundry room on this floor.

Footsteps passing by in the hallway so late at night, rushed, hasty.

Root shifting in her seat. Root's breathing.

A louder breath, this time, still from Root. It was an exhale.

The shaky inhale that was the companion.

It was unmistakable, the sound of Root trying to hold in her sadness and keep it together. Shaw was familiar with the sound of a shaky resolve, although she'd be reluctant to revisit how familiar with it she was.

Shaw evened out her breathing and blocked the sound out, biting down on the inside of her lip to prevent herself from opening her eyes. Honestly, the temptation had been as strong as when she heard Root's very audible astonishment in the shower earlier. It was less of she wanted to witness it because she cared, but rather more of a curiosity thing. Shaw just... wanted to see it. What was happening between them right now was a sort of thinking matter, and while Root was fond of bringing it up at the most inappropriate times, Shaw preferred to keep her judgment to the sidelines. And, hell, if she was incredibly on the sidelines right now.

She heard Root inhale deeply, her breathing cracking at a single, almost broken point, and Shaw organized a list of questions that she'd figure out the answers to later, when they found a proper point to talk. There was little to no evidence that things had changed, but Shaw felt it. She could feel the thinking in the air, the looking, the lingering. The lingering that wasn't in the way she was used to from Root - it wasn't those intense gazes Shaw always felt on her when she knew Root was just dying to _express_ herself (and probably mentally undressing her, but whatever). What she had sensed in the past few hours alone was different; she could still get the vibe of Root watching her at sporadic times, but it was with...

Concern.

 _Worry_.

The agony she had heard that night.

Swallowing the rest of her curiosity, Shaw forced her mind blank, sweeping out the rest of her thoughts like dust underneath a rug. Sleep, after that, was easy to fall into.

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Root allowed herself a brief moment of letting loose after she had seen Shaw close her eyes. The breath that came out, though, was far from being a moment long, and she quickly tried to compose herself, hoping that Shaw had already fallen asleep, but there was little chance of that. Her hand clenched into a fist on her lap as she dug deep inside of herself to find that lock and key.

Somehow, finding her composure was a much more difficult task to accomplish, now.

For some reason - dumb, stupid reason, she had almost expected a different Shaw to emerge from Samaritan's captivity. Seven months had been a long time, and Root knew what she was hoping for. Something to finalize the coin that had been thrown into the air on the day of Shaw's capture. The banging of the elevator doors as she screamed and punched until her knuckles were raw - the gunshot she had heard in what would be the last she saw of Shaw, laying on the ground, a defiant fire burning in her eyes for Martine. That damn _kiss_. Too short, too hasty. It left her yearning for so much more and had shot a hole in her chest.

She couldn't stop crumbling after that. Folding in on herself like a curtain being yanked down by gravity.

Shaw had been her gravity, not The Machine, despite everything.

For some reason, Root had thought that Shaw would carry the same emotional imprint as she did - that they would both be feeling the grief coursing through their veins in the time away.

But, that had been a dumb idea to expect passion and intensity from someone who went at her own pace.

Root propped her elbow on the table and pressed her knuckles into her temple, accidentally letting herself go with another shaky exhale. She could hear a faint, light snore from Shaw, now, though, so she was in the clear. It was fairly selfish of her to expect so much, really, but that was one of her flaws. All that time she had spent searching and desperately wearing herself out had instilled some deep sense of impatience and desire in her. It was a disappointment, to say the least, that Shaw didn't reciprocate those kind of mushy, intense, I-cried-weeks-over-you feelings.

Or, well, at least, visibly. And, Root felt a twinge of guilt for thinking that. It had taken her time to get used to what was their routine - her playful banter, Shaw's casual deflection - but it was just as tough to get back into it after sobbing herself dry and nearly wrecking her whole being. The whole thing felt almost like a lie. If she were to slip so easily back into their normalcy, then it was like saying that she hadn't been affected. And she had. _God_ , she had torn herself apart, only to have to put herself back together so quickly to make herself look as strong as she once had been.

There was still a piece of her, missing, though, because Shaw had been - still was, most likely - her weakness. Root shivered, squirming in her chair. She stilled, anticipating Shaw waking at the slight sound, but sighed in relief as there was no movement from the bed.

Root knew Shaw cared, but it was as if she needed affirmation after all the time she had spent running leads and trails into the ground. She just _needed_ to see it for once, not just speculate until whenever Shaw made a direct statement or move. The suspense would kill her.

She was so selfish.

_You are **so** selfish._

The thought settled into her brain, and Root inhaled, sharply, wincing at its impact on her sense of morality (ha) and guilty conscience. Not that she really _had_ a guilty conscience, but... it was still rude, at best, of her to think of only herself after what she'd seen of Shaw's, well, scars would be the best word to describe them. But, even "scars" wasn't descriptive enough. How could she even _think_ of only herself, ever again, after seeing that? The psychological damage was probably worse, and Root's stomach lurched at that idea.

It was a lot easier for her to admit that she (obviously) was deeply concerned over Shaw's return to a somewhat-normal environment than to figure out whether or not it made a difference to Shaw that she cared.

A shiver ran through her body, and she jerked, squirming her shoulders uncomfortably. It wasn't even chilly in the room, but Root felt as if she was stark naked and vulnerably exposed, easy picking for nature to sweep her away. She rubbed her hands over her neck and shoulders, trying to let some warmth seep back into her bones; God, she was so fragile, now, and felt even less so. Everything was so... delicate. Even the way she regarded Shaw was with an underlying fear. Root had been frozen when she had first seen Shaw's scars, and the question she still hadn't figured out the answer to was what was the proper way to handle that. Was it okay to show her concern? Was it not? Did Shaw want to talk about it (most likely not)? Did Shaw _need_ to talk about it, lest she let the pressure and trauma build up into some sort of post-traumatic stress breakdown? And, if that was what she needed, would Root be ready to hear the worst of it, even if just the sight of all those gashes and bruises made her want to rip into the next throat she saw with a seven-inch blade?

Right, as if she was even the person most qualified to deal with that.

Root sighed, a defeated, resigned, exhausted sound. She folded her arms on the table and rested her head in the crook of her elbow, letting her eyes fall onto Shaw's sleeping form. Watched the rise and fall of the other woman's chest and the slight furrow in her brow. Things had changed. The Machine hummed softly in her ear, melding with every strand of DNA she had vibrating inside of her, but Shaw was the physics-defying scientific anomaly that came in and ripped those two chains apart. Shaw was why she had woken up and gone to sleep for the past near two hundred and ten days.

She had hardly closed her eyes for five minutes when a murmur from Shaw interrupted her attempt at finally resting. Root raised her head and curiously - a bit groggily because she was only just feeling _so_ tired now - stared at the bed, "Hm, what was that?" It was a pointless question to ask, honestly, because she could tell from where she sat that Shaw was still very much asleep - after all, if she wasn't, she most likely would've sat up and told Root off.

Shaw mumbled in her sleep again and then shifted abruptly, rolling onto her back and tangling the bedsheet around her slender form. Root stifled what would've been a sharp inhale of concern as she heard Shaw vaguely grunt in pain - probably from grazing her back injuries against the fabric of her shirt and the bed, no doubt. Minutely curious, Root straightened up and stood, shrugging the exhaustion from her bones, if only just for a moment. She grabbed her chair and picked it up, hefting it over to the bed, where she set it down as lightly as she could without waking Shaw up. With a small frown, Root slumped into her seat and watched, her eyes lingering a bit too long on Shaw's lips, waiting for the murmuring to start up again.

"My... mmm-" There it was. Root sat up and leaned her elbows on her knees, tilting her body closer in order to hear what it was that was plaguing Shaw's dreams. She held her breath in, quietly, though, taking care to inhale and exhale as softly as she could. If she so much as huffed onto Shaw, she was sure the other woman would bolt out of bed and strangle her to the depths of Hades.

Shifting - squirming, almost - in the sheets, Shaw seemed visibly uncomfortable, projecting whatever she was experiencing in her sleep to her physical body. Her face was contorted into an expression of unease and discomfort, brow dipped, jaw flexed - even her hands were grasping the sheet she was under with a disturbing intensity; Root swallowed a shaky breath and waited, forcing herself to look away from Shaw's features for a moment to compose herself.

"My name... is Sameen Shaw." Root's brow furrowed in confusion, and she squinted at Shaw's body language as the woman dragged out those words, suddenly sounding out of breath but very much defiant. Shaw shook her head hastily, mussing up her hair against the pillow, and her lips curled into a sneer, " _No_."

Whatever was occurring in Shaw's dream (it seemed unpleasant, to say the least), Root had no idea, but the anger that came out into the room when Shaw spoke her resistance was enough to clue Root in on a hunch (even if that hunch was as rudimentary as Shaw having a nightmare about her time in captivity). It burned in the air and prickled at her skin. Anger like this wasn't something she had felt with Shaw before (she had a privilege, at least, of never truly holding a grudge from the woman). This was... pure hatred, unrefined and ragged at the edges like broken glass. It felt sharp, and Root was afraid to move, in case the air was deadly enough to slice through her skin.

The growl that erupted from Shaw's throat was _predatory_ , and Root flinched, jerking back in her chair as an instinctive reflex to escape the danger.

Shaw relaxed and huffed out a light snore, slightly loosening her grip on the bedsheet.

But, there was no danger here.

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At some ungodly hour of the morning with the sun vaguely shining through the blinds, Shaw awoke from her slumber, glared at the ceiling while trying to force her eyes open, and grumbled to herself. Her body _still_ ached, and seeing as she woke up in a different position than she had gone to sleep in, that was probably due to rolling over and forcing pressure onto her other wounds. So much for containing the pain to just one side. Drawing in a slow breath, she inhaled the silent peace of the room. Root wasn't awake yet, which meant she had some time without innuendos stuffed under her skin. Shaw turned on her side and swung her legs out of the bed, bracing herself to groggily stumble out of bed. Her eyes landed on the figure sitting in the chair that _definitely_ hadn't been there the night before, and she rolled her eyes out of habit.

"Root."

The brunette kept on sleeping, her hands resting on the chair's armrests and her head tilted forward, dark brown hair falling in front of her face. Shaw huffed and stood up, walking around the chair and heading straight to the kitchen to work the coffee machine. She waited the few minutes it took to make her cup of coffee out by leaning against the counter and examining Root's silhouette. Obviously, Root had moved her chair from the small dining table to her bedside during the night, but why? What reason would Root have for...

Shaw swallowed the rest of those questions and huffed a grumpy sigh to herself. What other reason would Root have for doing it, just like those glances of persistent worry like a paranoid mother and her only child (although, that wasn't the best analogy because in _no_ way were she and Root like parent and offspring)?

Shaw understood. She truly did.

But, that didn't mean she wasn't allowed to be a bit disgruntled about it.

Grabbing her cup of coffee as it finally finished brewing (honestly, the machine _rattled_ when it was done, how did Root _not_ wake up to that?), Shaw approached Root's chair with an easy, languid stride. She looked at the woman for a long moment, boringly took a sip of her coffee, then lightly nudged Root's ankle with her foot.

The effect was instantaneous, and if Shaw hadn't been anticipating it (which was rather impossible), she would've hurled her mug in the air. Root jolted herself so hard out of her sleep that she knocked her chair over in her effort to stand up. Which, really, was a terrible effort because she nearly tripped over the chair itself in the process. Reacting quickly, Shaw caught Root's arm with her free hand and held her upright, flashing her a smug grin.

"Mornin'."

Root looked bewildered, almost, and frantically glanced around the hotel room as if she hadn't the faintest idea where she was for a split-second. Then, she noticed Shaw's hand on her arm and snapped into the fastest transition of Root Modes Shaw had ever witnessed, smirking and suggestively raising her eyebrows, conveying her whole meaning without uttering a sleepy word.

Shaw sighed heavily and let go of Root's arm, taking another sip of her coffee as she watched the brunette pick the poor chair back up. She waited until Root had finished dragging the chair back to the dining table before inquiring with a completely straight face, "So, why, exactly, were you sleeping in a chair that was next to my bedside?"

"I was watching over you, _sweetie_. Why else?" The flirtatious smile that Root gave her just seemed too much to deal with for the morning hours, so Shaw rolled her eyes and blatantly ignored it. "I thought we went over this already," Shaw murmured, setting her mug down on the nightstand and watching as Root disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door rather loudly for a groggy not-morning person; she raised her voice a bit to get through the door, "I don't need protectin'. Or someone watchin' over me."

She heard the sound of the faucet running for a few minutes before Root yanked the door open and it banged against the wall. Shaw blinked and held Root's gaze as she took a step toward her. "Who's going to protect you," Root asked, her voice dropping to an uncharacteristically low point, teetering on the edge of cracking, "If Samaritan's agents come after you again?" Quirking a sharp eyebrow, Shaw almost snorted and shook her head incredulously, "I survived them for _seven_ months-" Root visibly flinched, and Shaw halted her sentence, narrowing her eyes and examining Root's sudden reaction. Just the flinch said everything, but the way Root abruptly refused to meet her analytic gaze and purposely turned around when Shaw tried to establish eye contact...

"I have to go," Root declared. But, she wasn't looking at Shaw. In fact, she turned around, using her body as a barrier, and Shaw frowned, irritated at the wall she encountered. "There's a new number." For some reason (the _obvious_ one), Shaw doubted the convenience of that right at this moment, but she played along for Root's sake.

"Alright, well then, let's go." She strode forward, but Root turned and grabbed her arm in a firm grip, stopping her in her tracks. Shaw immediately yanked her arm out of the hold, and both of them took a simultaneous step back. Shoulders squared in annoyance, Shaw radiated a quickly-rising anger, her fists clenched at her sides. Her mouth was drawn into a defiant frown, jaw flexed taught. Her eyes flickered over Root's posture, taking in how the other woman was fidgeting, not exactly sure of what she was feeling. Or, maybe, trying to decide what she felt. Finally, Root straightened up and stared at Shaw, but there was a certain lack of playfulness in her eyes. That was a constant, at least, of the last two days. Shaw was having a slight difficulty adjusting to this new display of sudden seriousness that Root would drag into the atmosphere; it was... slightly unexpected. Only slightly.

"You can't go," Root murmured, averting her gaze to the floor when Shaw raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

" _Excuse_ me?"

"I won't let you leave-" Shaw broke into Root's personal space by taking a long step forward and leaned in, letting her breath come out as a low growl. It left Root speechless for a moment, which was good enough. Honestly, Shaw would have been less offended if Root had said something more Finch-like, such as 'you need to rest' or 'you are not in any condition to go chasing after numbers'. But, _that_?

"I want to make something _very_ clear to you, _Root_ ," Shaw muttered, flexing her jaw with every word, "I make my own choices. You don't tell me what to do, and you _certainly_ have no control over where I go and what I do. Understand?"

She saw Root's nearly imperceptible nod and took it as a satisfactory confirmation, relaxing and going back to the bed. Taking a seat on the bed, Shaw kept her eyes on Root as she grabbed her coffee mug and took a sip from it. Warm now, in the process of getting cold - ugh. Root sighed, heavily; Shaw braced herself for some sort of emotional outburst (just in case, she never could be too sure anymore, having been away for so long). "It's important that you're safe." There was a heavy weight that came along with that statement, and Shaw sensed it as clear as day. But, what would she do with it? Nothing. She shrugged and set her mug back down on the nightstand. Root knew as well as she did that nobody was safe - people had stopped being safe during some long ago point in time, and all they could do was try and save the people around them from the constant danger.

When Shaw didn't respond, Root tried again, obviously trying to coax some sort of reaction - whatever it was, Shaw had a hunch that it wouldn't work, anyway. Hardly worked in the past. "I can't lose you again." Desperate, almost. For a moment, Shaw felt a small twinge of pity then brushed it off. There was no pity to be had for something she had no control over, whatsoever. It was illogical to pity Root's... concern.

"Well, I'm right here," Shaw stated, plainly, a disgruntled frown on her face, "Obviously, I'm not going anywhere." Her features softened for a moment. "So, stop lookin' so sad, alright?"

Root opened her mouth as if to say something in response, but she decided against it, apparently, because she turned on her heel and made a beeline for the door. Before leaving, though, she grabbed her jacket out of the closet next to the door and rummaged through the pockets. Shaw spied a small object in her hand and reacted fast enough to snatch it out of the air with a quick snap of her wrist when Root abruptly tossed it in her direction. She glanced at the object - an earpiece, much like the one she didn't have anymore after being in Samaritan's captivity.

"I'll check in on you later, sweetie," Root drawled, flashing her signature grin, all teeth and little humanity. Once again, Shaw mentally noted the rapid transition in the facade because she knew, just as anyone else observing would, that Root was definitely feeling anything but flirtatious for the time being. Grumbling in curt response, Shaw kept her eyes on the door until Root had left and closed it behind her.

If Root really did have a number to track down (unlikely, considering the sudden mention in the middle of their rather serious discussion), then Shaw had _hours_ to waste before Root came back. Sighing, she fitted the earpiece into her right ear and pressed her thumb against it vaguely, hearing it beep on in response.

_"Ms. Shaw?_

She breathed out a slow sigh, an odd shiver running through her body at the sensation of hearing a voice that, well, she definitely hadn't heard constantly for a long while, save for that short exchange they had when Fusco was driving her to a safer location. "Hey, Finch."

_"How are you faring? I assume Ms. Groves came to visit you yesterday and stayed the night."_

Shaw opened her mouth to respond and make an annoyed comment about Root's presence, but think of the devil and... _"I **did** go and visit her, Harold. She was just **so** overjoyed to see me, weren't you, Sameen?"_ She shall appear.

A headache threatened to develop. "Root, if you're still in the building, I suggest you start jogging out the front door before I come and _strangle_ you."

Root goddamn _giggled_.

Frustrated, Shaw clicked the earpiece off and pulled it out of her ear, tossing it on the nightstand next to her mug. God, that woman was so infuriating. And, when she wasn't being infuriating, she was being concerned in an irritating way. The annoyed state Shaw was in was inescapable, apparently.

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Shaw had woken up around five in the morning.

Root returned to the hotel at eight.

In the evening.

With the dog. Did the hotel even _allow_ pets? Shaw decided not to ask.

The door to the room opened, and Shaw peeked her head out of the bathroom, having just finished showering and getting dressed. She visibly relaxed when she saw Root shuffling in, trailing Bear behind at a quick pace. Immediately, Bear spotted Shaw's face and bounded toward her, slipping out of Root's grasp on his collar. "Hey, buddy," Shaw cooed, grinning as she squatted down to pet him, "Told you I'd be back, right?" She noticed Root stiffen out of the corner of her eye at hearing that, but she ignored it. That was a matter for later. Right now, she'd been stuck in a hotel room for nearly fifteen hours with nothing to do, Bear was the best thing to happen.

She ran her hands through his fur and leaned in so he could eagerly lick her face and convey just _how much_ he missed her. Her hair was dripping wet, but Bear didn't seem to care at all, sticking his nose and drooling anywhere he could, including the towel that was draped around her neck. Dogs. Man's best friend, indeed.

Glancing at Root, Shaw smirked, "Jealous?" It was a casual attempt to sweep their conversation from earlier underneath the rug (which Shaw assumed Root was already trying to do by bringing Bear into the room - it wasn't necessary, but it was a good distraction, definitely - she appreciated how Root's mind worked). Root rolled her eyes and chuckled, her stance relaxing into a flirtatious swagger as she sauntered over to Bear and gave him a pat on the head. Bear, much to Shaw's smug notice, didn't take his attention off of Shaw. Ha.

"As if I'd be jealous of a dog licking your face," Root began, innocently, but then she winked and Shaw regretted making the quip, " _However_ , I'd perfectly enjoy licking another part of you..." Shaw glared at her, getting the suggestion immediately, and Bear whined, sensing her irritation. "In your dreams," Shaw retorted, scowling.

Root only brightened at the euphemistic opportunities she kept being presented with and smiled, "That's _exactly_ what happens. You know me _so_ well, Sameen."

Shaw growled, lowly, and ignored the remark, but she still felt a (irritated, completely) lurch in her stomach at the thought. In order to derail the train, she gave Bear a kiss, which was enough to immediately bring a smile onto her face, much to Root's obvious displeasure.

Obviously, she could entirely comprehend the reason for Root's behavior the past two days, but Shaw refused to play with the risks of their lives, not when she couldn't see the whole entire chessboard. Ever since she had escaped from Samaritan's grip, Shaw had lost sight of half of the battlefield, and all she could see were their pieces, small, black, outnumbered. Root could flirt all she wanted, but Shaw wasn't so easy to reel in. There was a certain sense of urgency that Shaw didn't remember from before her capture, but the presence of that desperation wasn't going to make her any more likely to cave in. Her resolve was strong, and she wasn't one to make sacrifices for pleasure.

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Root went out to pick up dinner (which, really, was just a large order of several burgers with fries) at a McDonald's across the street and, when she returned, she found Shaw laying on the bed with Bear's head resting on her thigh.

"Okay, Sameen, you win," she joked, catching Shaw's attention, "I'm a bit jealous of the dog." Root set the McDonald's bag down on the kitchen counter and pulled out a burger, tossing it at Shaw rather, well, rudely. Bit of... bitterness still left over, she supposed.

The burger landed in Shaw's lap, and she glanced up as Bear started pawing at the wrapper, glaring at Root for the unnecessary intensity of handing her things. Shaw drawled with a smirk, "Yeah, I bet you are." Root grabbed a container of fries and began munching on them absentmindedly, watching as Shaw unwrapped the burger and split half with Bear before tearing into the burger with her own teeth. Gorgeous. Shaw seemed visibly irritated with Root's gaze on her but refused to give her the satisfaction of looking back while she was eating.

They ate in relative silence with Bear panting incredibly loudly and occasionally sniffing Shaw's mouth. When Shaw had finished with her burger (it took less than three minutes, really, with only half), she stood up and crumpled the wrapper in her hands, tossing it into the trashcan next to Root's feet with a basketball player's form that made Root wonder about Shaw's history with athleticism. Shaw brushed past her as she peeked into the McDonald's bag to grab more food, pulling out a container of fries and standing next to Root at a distance that made her _very_ aware of their closeness.

"So," Shaw began, munching on a fry; Root found herself too distracted with staring at Shaw's lips to notice the serious tone in the other woman's voice and quickly tore her gaze away before she got caught, "About earlier." Root caught a cough (almost choked) in her throat and forced it back down, inching away in the opposite direction, toward the fridge. If Shaw noticed, she didn't make any indication of caring.

"Yeah, what about it?" Root held Shaw's gaze (surprisingly enough) and feigned innocent curiosity. Shaw's unamused stare was enough to tell Root that she wasn't buying into the bullshit. Holding onto to her resolve, Root swallowed, dryly.

"What happened while I was gone?"

"What happened to _you_ while you were gone?" Root countered then winced to herself, realizing that probably wasn't the best thing to say to Shaw. She risked a glance at the other woman and shrunk underneath Shaw's glare. "Answer the question, Root." Shaw's tone was direct, straightforward, and Root wanted to flee the room from it.

She breathed.

Shaw waited.

"I fought for you," Root murmured, cutting off any more conversation by looking away. She felt Shaw shift beside her and prayed to God - even if she didn't believe - that Shaw wouldn't pursue the track. Not now, she couldn't think about those things right now. Maybe not even tomorrow. Not yet.

God answered.

Their silence after that lasted for an eternity.


	3. Fortitudine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's definitely been more than 2 weeks, unfortunately. Actually, it's been closer to 10 months, and I really do apologize for taking so long for an update. I lost my muse for the first half of the year and then had a rough summer and started my first semester of college back in August, which ended up taking up all of my time as I dealt with personal and health issues. So, for anyone who's still around, thanks for putting up and sticking with me!
> 
> On a better note, thank you guys, once again, so much for the feedback (even if it was so long ago)! :3 The plan for the rest of the fic (10 chapters total, hopefully) is the routine alternating between Root and Shaw's POVs, so I'm really happy about the support I've gotten for both of their perspectives. Y'all are so nice. 
> 
> I promise this won't hurt that much. (Also, for reference, [this](https://40.media.tumblr.com/f3ee968d026b788231dc697e5dcf1913/tumblr_njhoeabyBF1s8laauo1_r1_500.png) is Shaw's hotel room.)
> 
> (P.S. Rating has been changed to M for future chapters.)

Root couldn’t handle the silence. It's absolute torture, and she just didn't know what to do with all of that time. She had lost her appetite shortly after she and Shaw stopped conversing, so she ended up trying not to watch Shaw and Bear double team the rest of the burgers. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to sneak Bear in, she thought, since Shaw seemed to be doing fine giving her the silent treatment because of Bear's additional attention. And, worse, Root didn't have it in her to try and approach Bear for an ounce of comfort for the whole evening because that alone involved breathing the same uncomfortable, proximal air as Shaw.

Obviously, it was going to end up being her who broke the silence, out of pure desperation, but Root held onto her dignity. She'd make it as long as she could. It was most likely impossible to outlast Shaw, so Root didn't bother trying to make that an objective. Just resisting the urge to plead was enough of a challenge. She shifted in her chair, trying to cover up her unease. There wasn't much to look at in the whole entire room, honestly. Root was left either looking at the desk she was sitting at, the World's Smallest Dining Table, the bed, the TV, or - what she was currently looking at - Shaw.

She just had to...

Shaw turned to catch her stare, and Root lost every fiber of dignity she had ever possessed with those eyes stoically boring into her. Fuck.

" _Fine_ ," she drawled, almost snarling, the words tumbling from her lips like an angry resignation, the loss of control instead of willingly gifting it away, "What the hell do you wanna know?"

It could have been the lighting, but Root swore that Shaw smirked in victory just then, but it was hard to tell, seeing that Shaw had turned away from her. Her voice drifted over her shoulder, and Root inwardly sighed, completely aware of how (pathetically) desperately she was hanging onto every word, even if it looked like Shaw was still blatantly ignoring her. Her heart thumped softly in her chest, every beat making Root sensitively observant of just how she had trapped herself into this by making a mistake and letting a breath of her anger loose. She didn't spend all that time bracing herself for Shaw's return only to break her mask in the first two days. Jesus Christ. "What happened while you were gone. I've already said that." Shaw's tone was so calm, so utterly void of emotion, that it just _infuriated_ Root; she could tolerate being brushed off when she flirted with Shaw, could tolerate Shaw's annoyance and irritation and empty death threats, but _this_. Not this.

"What does it _fucking_ matter?" she abruptly yelled, causing Bear to flinch and whine. Shaw waited for a moment as Bear retreated to the bathroom, distancing himself from Root's anger, before turning around and pinning Root with a blank stare. The void only made her feel as if she was still falling, as if the ground beneath her had opened up - and Root honestly wished it had. She knew why it hurt so much, so deep in her core to see the indifference in Shaw's eyes. Root liked attention, honestly, of any kind, but emotions were something she knew how to handle. The people she had conned in her life before The Machine were all so easily and very readable; they looked at her with all the right expressions that, inadvertently, gave her the tools she required to crack them open and take what she wanted.

Shaw was not, obviously, like that.

Shaw, as Root had learned from the beginning, didn't show her concern like Root normally observed other people to. Where Root let her own bleed out in small doses (or, rather, small doses of large outbursts, as she was doing right now), Shaw just... held no readable expression. There was no way to _actually_ know what mattered to Shaw and what didn’t. The corner of Root’s mouth twitched into a brief frown. That question was beginning to gnaw at her again - the matter of whether her tedious, soul-aching search for Shaw had been worth anything more than… She stiffened and returned Shaw’s gaze with what she hoped was cold, hard strength; Root had it in her to be as ruthless as she wanted, but, God, if Shaw brought her to her knees.

”What does it matter,” she repeated, slowly, clenching her jaw, “When it’s _very_ possible that the sentimentality of anything I say won’t make a difference to you at all?” Shaw merely regarded her with a raised eyebrow, and Root had to clench her fist, digging her nails deep into her palm, to stop herself from screaming all of the utterly selfish reasons why she had expected something different than what she had currently been given. Her eyes followed Shaw as the other woman stalked dangerously close to her personal space (to which Root would’ve made a witty comment in response to at any other time, but as of right now, she was too exhausted by sheer emotion to do that) and pulled the desk drawer open, making no move to try and avoid the obvious obstacle of Root sitting there. The drawer bumped into Root's side, but she stiffened and resolved not to move an inch.

Shaw was clearly unfazed by Root's anger and merely reached inside, pulling out the notepad and pen that were provided. "Then use logic," she muttered, giving Root a gaze as if that was the answer to every problem in the world. Root simply stared at her, the frown on her face deepening. Shaw wanted her to reduce all of that time that she spent tearing herself apart, breaking herself down, rejecting The Machine because what she had been doing was utterly wrong, for _logic_? "My concern is _not_ made up of just reasoning and conditionals, Sameen," she snapped, shoving as much bitterness as she could into her tone, leaning forward so that Shaw had nowhere to look but the anger painted on her face. _My concern for you,_ she had almost said. Almost.

But, Jesus, they were close, and Root almost shivered at the proximity of their faces.

If Shaw turned a fraction to the left...

She paused, the frustrated worry draining out of her chest, which was admittedly a bad move; Shaw stiffened, sensing the change in the atmosphere most likely, then quickly pulled away and yanked one of the dining table chairs over to the desk. At a fair distance away from her, Root noticed with a numbness in her bones. She slumped in her seat, watching Shaw draw a two-column table down on the notepad. At first, Root wasn't interested in the slightest, but then, she saw a slight tremble in Shaw's right hand as she dragged the pen across the paper. It was there for a millisecond, and when Root leaned forward to observe more, propping her elbows on the desk, it was gone. A twitch, probably.

Root raised her eyebrows in curiosity as Shaw wrote their names on either side of the table. It took her some effort, but she managed to choke out her best attempt at being flirtatious right then, "Keeping score, Shaw?" She winked, just as Shaw looked up at her with a scowl, and Root couldn't have asked for a better moment to rain on Shaw's parade. However, she got no response besides the scowl; a feeling of panic crept up inside of her, like a slow burn that was threatening to consume everything she was. Her hands trembled, and she shoved them underneath her thighs, sitting on her fingers to ground herself. The pain anchored her.

She had hoped Shaw would, now that she was out of Samaritan's custody, but no such luck. There was nothing stable and substantial in those cold eyes that Root could hold onto. Maybe once upon a time, she thought, but now, every time Shaw looked at her the way she had before - with her usual grumpiness and irritation - Root felt herself fading away. It was most likely too much to ask for, but she had expected a different Shaw to return. New, refreshed.

Reciprocating, in her own Shaw way.

"Yes, Root," Shaw finally sighed, rolling her eyes as she settled back into her chair, and elaborated at Root's curious smirk, "We're keeping score. Questions since you're so goddamn nosy." Root grinned and batted her eyelashes at the other woman, "Aw, would you look at that? You're catering to my desires, _Sameen_."

The glare Shaw shot her in response would've made flowers wilt and rivers dry up. Oceans, even. "It's a _compromise_ ," Shaw snarled, but Root could tell she hadn't thrown her into a permanent bad mood. Yet. Shaw's annoyance faded into casual indifference as she twirled the pen between her slender fingers. Root caught herself staring at the entrancing motion in straight rapture, and presumably, Shaw noticed as well but made no move to stop her fiddling. Shaw was busy thinking, Root could see that, but she was impatient - something that had kicked in early on, after… the Stock Exchange - and voiced her inquiry aloud. “A compromise on…?” Shaw gave her no answer and stayed uncharacteristically silent. Clearly, whatever Shaw had come up with had something to do about Root and her concern - excuse, _nosiness_ \- and a flame flickered inside of her for a second. Shaw was just trying to shove away her space-consuming presence. Compartmentalize her and her feelings away into some sort of box, probably, in the back of Shaw’s mind.

It made Root wonder about that kiss.

She hadn’t thought about it for the longest time since she was so focused on finding Shaw for endless days and nights the bled into each other. Time stopped existing for Root, and the only thing directing her was Shaw. Her dreams and nightmares blurred into one another until it was difficult (not to mention _painful_ ) to separate the two. And, now that Shaw was in front of her, living and breathing and in one grumpy piece, Root entertained herself in the thought that it had been something spurred on by adrenaline, by Shaw’s fight-over-flight instincts. She hadn’t been looking for any sort of immediate return of, of… _feelings_ but-

”Alright, so,” Shaw started, slowly, leaning forward in her seat to demonstrate to Root whatever arrangement she had already pretty much decided for herself. Root couldn’t help the small smile that touched her lips at that; it was quite unsettling and she was hurt that Shaw had slipped back into their normalcy so easily, but Root kept those things to her stomach and appreciated the familiarity. Seeing Shaw take quiet charge on her own reminded her of the time before Samaritan, when everything was just numbers, Reese being his awkward lumbering “Tall, Dark, and Mysterious” self, Harold worrying away at every little thing in the whole fabric of the universe through his spectacles, and Shaw exuding an air of endless irritation while somehow still holding the coolest demeanor of anyone in a room at any given time.

Root yearned dearly for those days again, even if she hated the idea of clinging to her past. She did that a lot - remembering, recalling, never letting go - but that didn’t mean she had to particularly enjoy her mental habits. It just seemed easier, though, to be Root, shooting perps and petty criminals and occasionally slipping off to handle the missions The Machine reserved just for her.

Root, a snake shedding her own skin every now and then, slipping in and out of the team’s lives like a flimsy breeze. It made her presence something to be wanted.

Well, that was what Root preferred to think of it as, anyhow.

” _Root_.”

She jolted back into reality and blinked, catching herself on Shaw’s gaze after a moment of blearily glancing around. Shaw’s mouth was drawn into a thin line - teetering on a scowl - as she narrowed her eyes, “You haven’t heard a single word in the past three minutes, have you?” Awkwardly, Root opened her mouth to respond, fumbling in her mind to come up with a half-assed answer that show some sort of interest. Thankfully, The Machine hummed softly in her ear, giving her a concise outline of what Shaw had explained, and Root flashed Shaw her best flirtatious grin.

”I’m hurt, Sam,” she pouted, exasperatedly, laying on the charm thick (which Shaw was having none of, if her dry stare was anything to go off of), “Why would I ever pass up an opportunity to listen to you talk?” Root wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and lowered her voice to a husky drawl, leaning in closer and dragging her chair an inch forward with a tug of her ankle around the leg, “After all, your voice just _does_ things to me.”

Shaw’s expression stayed (annoyingly) neutral. Then, she blinked and rolled her eyes, jotting something down at the top of the notepad, above the columns with their names. “Obviously, you zoned out deep into Slipspace,” she muttered, her fingers tightly gripping the pen as she wrote down a tiny numbered list. Root couldn’t read the letters with completely clarity (Jesus, she’d never seen Shaw’s in long exposure before, but what they said about doctors was the truest stereotype, surely), but her shoulders relaxed at seeing the small calligraphy-like script that Shaw penned everything in. It was something new, definitely, but it filled her with a soft warmth. For a moment, she forgot who they were. What they had been through and what this moment (and every moment before and after) could infinitely mean for the both of them.

And, then, she remembered again, in a crashing moment that knocked the breath out of her, like that day when her hands had become so bloodied raw she hadn’t even felt the pain. Hadn’t even listened when The Machine rattled off medical guidance for how to properly care for the gashes in her palms that had now healed over (albeit leaving her palms slightly calloused). All she had done was yelled and screamed until The Machine fell dangerously silent. _You **have** to do something._

In the end, she hadn’t been able to do anything, and neither had The Machine.

One of them gave up on the mission before the other, though.

Root blinked, and there Shaw was again, alive and glaring expectantly at her now. Whoops.

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, wearily, using The Machine as a crutch to help her get the gist of what Shaw had probably explained a second time for her sake - and she had blanked out. Again.

”I understand, Sameen,” Root murmured, propping her chin on her hand, “Whenever I want to… talk serious with you, I’ll tell you. Ask questions. A tally mark counts on your side for every question I ask and vice versa.” The concept was simple enough, and Root was already calculating in her head the risk of racking up, say, thirty tally marks with Shaw, trying to satisfy her gnawing curiosity about what had happened while Shaw was with Samaritan, only to have Shaw throw a barrage of interrogative questions about Root’s time after the Stock Exchange.

Root definitely welcomed Shaw’s willingness to seemingly answer questions, but she didn’t feel too keen about having to provide an answer back for every answer she got. Especially when she knew that a good fifty percent of the events that had transpired in the seven months Shaw had been gone wouldn’t be approved of by the woman herself. If Finch hadn’t been too pleased with her (he’d been giving her a more wary gaze since), then Shaw would be even less likely to let her off the hook so nicely, considering Finch just lectured while Shaw could… break her body in several places and probably set them all back. Only to repeat the process. Root could easily think of a near two dozen curious inquiries she wanted to chase Shaw down with, but seeing that every question she asked would give Shaw a count to later ask one of her own, Root re-evaluated that train of thought. Getting the answers to a good thirty repetitions of ‘What happened to you?’ was perfectly fine; answering the same thing thirty times in return from Shaw’s hard stare was not.

Shaw’s eyes stayed lingering on her for a moment longer before going back to the notepad as she finished scribbling out her list. There was a certain tension in her shoulders that was, well, more tense than the norm Root was used to from Shaw. Of course, she was always tense - they both always were - but this was different. If she squinted, Root could fool herself into thinking that was muted concern on Shaw’s face. Concern for _her_.

”Rule 1,” Shaw muttered, capping the pen and twirling it between her fingers again, “No flirting. Not if you want to ask questions you want actual answers to, got it? You’re a serious, mature grown-up.” She narrowed her eyes at Root for a brief second then shook her head, “Might have to check back with Finch to confirm the ‘mature’ part.”

Root smirked, eyes falling back to Shaw’s fingers messing with the pen. Who knew such a normal action could be so utterly distracting? “Come on, Sam,” she said, feigning an expression of deep hurt (to which Shaw’s scowl grew darker, if even possible), “I know how to _behave_... unless you prefer that I didn’t, of course.” Her lips curled into a knowing smirk, and she winked at Shaw once. But, once was more than enough. She had been testing Shaw's patience for the past day alone, already.

To be quite honest, Root had wanted something different. She had wanted a different Shaw to return - _how_ different was something she hadn’t really taken the time to dwell on. And, at the same time, she liked a sense of having something she knew what to do with. It was a struggle inside of her, not knowing exactly what she wanted from Shaw. Maybe, just maybe, she wanted nothing at all.

Either way, she should’ve expected what came because, really, the day Shaw let loose at her had always been looming on the horizon. Root just never thought she’d meet it in a room in a hotel in New York City.

Shaw stood up so _quick_ \- bolted out of her chair, almost - that Root flinched, her body stiffening out of reflexive, defensive action. Or, well, the word would be _cowardice_. She could feel herself shrinking under the other woman’s angry scowl, even if Shaw didn’t tower that much over her while she was sitting. Root knew better. Height difference or not, Shaw could take her down easily, whenever she chose to. It meant something significant that Root hadn’t died painfully from Shaw’s wrath. Yet. Tonight might just be that time.

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, anxiously, Root waited for Shaw to say something, bracing herself for the torrential hurricane that would yank her off of her feet, rip her anchors from the ground, and toss her into the Atlantic as if she were a rag doll. But, instead, she watched as Shaw stayed silent, her expression fluctuating between a deep sneer and a blank canvas for a minute, before settling on what seemed to be a permanent stormy cloud. Root blamed it on the lighting (it was doing so much, nowadays), but she swore that the brown in Shaw’s eyes darkened a shade closer to the blackness of an abyss as the anger visibly set across her features. “I-” She was about to stutter out a hasty, fumbling apology (a first for her, at least, since most of her apologies in her life were fabricated lies to fool people), but Shaw cut her off by speaking first, in the whisper of a grim reaper with a wicked, sharp scythe.

"I'm _trying_ , Root," Shaw snapped, and Root realized what she had missed. She was decent at reading people because people were predictable. But, Shaw wasn’t predictable. Shaw was a storm rolling over the hills out of nowhere, bringing crashing thunder but also nourishing downpour. It hadn’t been anger she had seen in the darkening of Shaw’s features.

Frustration, maybe. But, not anger.

She could hear the strain in Shaw’s voice as if she really was trying - trying to let her boundaries and the outside world coexist, trying to let Root in. Root swallowed, dryly, as Shaw barreled on. The frustration had dissipated from Shaw’s features, and it had been replaced by the furrowing of her brow in weary exhaustion. “I tried,” she muttered, bitterly, rolling her eyes, and Root felt a pang of guilt go through her heart (God, she’d been so self-absorbed…). They shared a look - Shaw’s eyes boring into Root’s as Root pressed her back into her chair - and Shaw said in a matter-of-fact tone, “I didn’t just _let_ you walk in with me in the shower.”

Root nodded, mutely. She knew. They both knew that even though Root had made the move to enter her personal space, Shaw could’ve broken all of the fingers on both of her hands whenever she wished. It was... an act of deep, personal intimacy, even if Shaw would never admit it.

"I'm sorry-" " _Don't!_ " Root flinched at the fire that abruptly ignited in Shaw's eyes as she glared down at her.

Root glanced at the notepad, looking for something to keep her from getting lost in Shaw's hardened gaze, and saw the second rule that Shaw hadn't gotten the chance to elaborate on yet. _2) No apologizing._

That was Shaw. Straightforward, direct, honest. No bullshit, and certainly not Root's.

She made her decision instantly.

Shaw was only standing a few inches away, close enough that if Root leaned forward, her knee would touch Shaw's leg. So, it was simply easy for her to grab the front of Shaw's shirt and yank her down - yank her _closer_. For once, Root had the element of surprise on her side, and Shaw stumbled, jerking a hand out to grab onto the desk before she fell onto Root (which wouldn't have been a bad thing, to be honest). Before Shaw could say anything or punch Root in the face (she definitely looked like she was a millisecond away from it), Root gripped the back of Shaw's neck with her other hand, holding her in place, and _kissed_ her.

She hadn't meant to but she poured the rest of the agony she had kept inside into crashing her lips against Shaw's. Not touching, not brushing or grazing. But _crashing_. With Shaw's lower lip roughly caught between hers, Root was tempted to bite down hard enough to taste a light copper flow in her mouth, but she restrained the urge. It was mildly uncomfortable, the position Root had pulled them both into, pulling Shaw toward her while Shaw fought to not trip over the chair leg (or Root's leg, for that matter) and tumble on top of her. Root didn't make a move to change their positions, though, and dealt with with Shaw's chin pressing awkwardly against her jaw. She was lost. Lost in the emotion that had swept over her and it jolted through her body like an electric shock. Root knew Shaw could feel it, too, after a second of processing the astonishment; her heart dropped through the floor, making a gaping hole, as Shaw reacted.

Five seconds. That was all she got.

Shaw's hand left the desk to shove Root back by the shoulder, and Root discovered where Shaw's other hand (clutching her chair, presumably) had been as it abruptly yanked on the back of her jacket - yanked her away from being close, being stable. Root shuddered from the loss of contact, pressing herself flat against her seat as Shaw wiped her expression clean of any giveaways as to what she was thinking. Now, she thought, Shaw looked even more intimidating than before, eyes murky and entirely unreadable, breathing slightly off-hitch (Root felt a surge of pride at that but suppressed it - she could gloat later when Shaw didn't look like she wanted to beat her with a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire), fists clenched at her sides.

Root mustered up as much courage as she could and steeled herself, squaring her shoulders. “Did that _mean_ anything to you?” she snapped, feeling the trembling from earlier rush back into her fingers. Flexing her fingers, Root tried holding her hands into fists, but the shaking didn’t stop. She wasn't as strong as Shaw, couldn't conceal herself behind a mask of anger.

Shaw moved toward her; Root flinched away on instinct, still expecting anger in response. However, Shaw was always still too fast for her and grabbed both her wrists, looking down at her with steel in her eyes. Root loathed herself, in that moment, for thinking that there would ever be anything else in that gaze, even if Shaw had just said she had been trying. She could try, but that didn’t cover up Shaw’s anger when it came. They both had seven months alone; the self-deprecating side of Root whispered to her that Shaw had seven months (plenty of time, obviously) to rethink that kiss and realize that it had meant nothing.

Shaw's grip on Root's wrists tightened, almost painfully. Root felt a certain numbness begin to creep into her bones; she welcomed it, gladly. "Root, look at me.” She looked, although reluctantly, and quickly averted her eyes. Weak was one of the most disgusting things Root had ever felt, and she knew that Shaw didn’t want to see it. Shaw wasn’t like that, didn’t succumb to the inferior side of the emotional spectrum. Her hands were still twitching, so Shaw tightened her grasp, nails now barely digging into Root’s pale skin. “Stop it,” Shaw said - no, _commanded_ , her eyes boring into Root’s whole being, “You’re being irrational.” Root agreed with that, wholeheartedly, and nodded without saying a word in response. She was being highly illogical - love tended to have that effect on her.

Sighing heavily, she shut her eyes for a minute, breathing in the shaky, anxious feeling of saying that word in her head. It had slipped; she hadn’t meant to voice it in her thoughts.

Without meaning to, she had already (in her head, at least) broken the third rule Shaw had written on the paper as well: _3) No emotions, only logic._

Finally, the grip on her wrists loosened and then was gone in an abrupt snap. Root kept her eyes shut, trying to keep her facial expression as blank as she could; she didn’t need Shaw to know that the break in contact had made her chest feel like caving in. There was the sound of movement, of Shaw sitting down in her chair and pulling it closer, and Root hesitantly opened her eyes, finding Shaw’s steady gaze right in front of her now. Shaw was leaning back in her seat, but their chairs were so close now that their knees almost touched. At the thought, Root jerked her knee a fraction, almost involuntarily, and shivered as it brushed Shaw’s leg. She had been so alone, for so long.

They both had, but the real question was if that even mattered anymore.

01101101 01100001 01111001 01100010 01100101 00100000 01110011 01101111 01101101 01100101 01100100 01100001 01111001

Shaw’s body was vaguely tingling all over, but if it was from the kiss or lingering aches from her wounds was to be determined. She had certainly been surprised when Root had yanked her into that searing kiss that was awkward because of the angle but satisfying all the same. In the corner of her mind, Shaw hoped that Root had enjoyed that temporary upper hand she had had because it most likely wasn’t going to occur again anytime soon.

Her eyes stayed fixed on Root, watching the other woman’s features. Root tried to keep her emotions controlled, clearly, but Shaw had caught on early that she wasn’t the best at doing so. Or, at least, not right now. Shaw had seen it all - the worry, the panic, the sadness, the underlying fear when Shaw had snapped in frustration; Root was an open book to her. Unfortunately, that open book was so full of details and emotions and flowery metaphors that Shaw was minutely worried about it being emotionally compromised.

Root’s leg twitched, brushing against Shaw’s knee. Shaw sat completely statue-still and observed Root’s face - how her eyes flickered to meet Shaw’s before looking away, how her lips parted slightly (probably feeling the after-effects of that kiss… Shaw would be lying if she said she didn’t at least have the restrained urge to lick her lips and make it happen all over again, bruising and hot like being caught under a spray of volcanic ash), how her cheeks faintly colored. All of those little things Shaw picked up and catalogued in her head, filing them away for later if she needed the information.

Reaching a hand out, Shaw grabbed the notepad and pen from the desk and set them on her lap, uncapping the pen and drawing a hash mark under the column labeled ‘Shaw’. Root had already asked a question worth ‘serious’ status, even if she hadn’t stated her intention yet. She glanced up to find Root watching her and saw the question perching on her lips, answering it before Root could repeat herself. “Of course, it meant somethin’ to me,” she muttered, keeping her tone flat. She caught Root’s eyes, not missing the slight surprise in them. Root pressed her lips into a small frown then held out her hands, motioning for the notepad and pen. Going silent, was she? Shaw handed them over, noticing again how Root fidgeted when their fingers brushed in the slightest. Root was fragile, almost, like a porcelain cup.

Without something to occupy her hands with, Shaw crossed her arms lightly in front of her stomach and watched as Root stared at the notepad for a moment before drawing another hash mark next to the one she had done. Raising her eyebrow, she waited, patiently, for Root’s question.

”If…” Root’s voice wavered as she spoke, and Shaw braced herself to come up with something else to ground the other woman, stop her from floating off into space or digging herself into the earth, "If it meant something to you, then why did you... at the Stock Exchange?"

"It was the most logical decision," Shaw said, plainly, rolling her eyes, "Fusco had his kid, John was injured, and we can't ever afford to lose Finch - not that he can shoot for shit, anyway." Hopefully, that would make Root chuckle and lose the whole brooding Eeyore thing she had going on, but no such luck. Shaw frowned; broody wasn't the best look on Root because, well, that just wasn't the Root she was accustomed to. She cut off the protest that was written on Root's features with a glare, "And _you_ were out of ammo."

There was a long silence before Root responded. Shaw vaguely pondered if the silence was agonizing for the other woman, as emotional and high-strung as she seemed to be right then. Which, of course, Shaw didn't have that problem. Silence or noise was fine; neither was preferred, and she could last long in constant presence of either. Patience was a virtue Sameen Shaw had glued to her chest.

"It was supposed to be _my_ sacrifice."

Furrowing her brow in confusion, Shaw narrowed her eyes at Root, "What is _that_ supposed to mean?" When Root didn't answer, Shaw leaned forward, prying the pen from Root's fingers and drawing a mark under Root’s own name. A question asked for each of them. "New rule. Number 4: there has to be an answer. Doesn't matter how specific or vague it is." When she handed the pen back to Root, the brunette stared at her, almost miserably or sadly or whatever it was (Shaw just knew she wanted it gone), then wrote down the fourth rule at the top of the page.

Root shifted in her seat, eyes drifting about, sometimes landing on Shaw, sometimes not. “Simon” was the sole word she uttered with a soft, half-shrug, like she didn’t really care about what she was saying.

Shaw raised an eyebrow, leaning forward in curious interest, “The pollster?” What did a number from almost a year ago have anything to do with her question? A partially annoyed frown etched itself into her features, but Shaw kept herself calm. Root had been holding in a lot, no doubt, for the past seven months and that made her susceptible to letting out snappy bursts of whatever it was she had bottled up inside. The best thing right now was for both of them to stay cool and collected (or, however collected Root could manage to be).

Root nodded then abruptly stood up, walking around the hotel room and deliberating keeping her gaze low. Shaw followed her path to the window where she stopped and stared pensively out the window. Root’s whole stance was off - unlike Root. More like the Root Shaw remembered seeing when Simon was their number. Quiet, tired, morbid. Despondent, almost.

”It was going to be my sacrifice,” Root murmured again, still facing the window. Shaw saw nothing of her face, but she guessed that if she could, she still wouldn’t like it. Of what she saw of Root’s posterior side, Shaw took a wild hunch from the slumped but tense shoulders, bowed head, and fidgety, restless leg that Root was thinking about that night as well. “I was going to do what I had to to stop Samaritan. Even if that meant dying.”

She clenched her jaw, sensing a wave of anger rising from the depths of her stomach. Shaw was torn between rolling her eyes and getting up to punch Root in the face, honestly. To stop herself from doing both, she gripped the edge of the desk with an intensity that turned her knuckles white before letting go and trying not to make her hand form into a fist (and failing at doing even that). “So, your point is,” she snarled, caving in and rolling her eyes hard when Root turned around to glance at her, “That you were irrational as fuck back then and still are right now.” Shaw rubbed the bridge of her nose with her fingers, grumbling quietly to herself. It made absolutely no logical sense - did Root even operate with logic or did she just blindly fumble around and hope something she did just happened to be right? Probably the latter, considering she was always tuning into The Machine 24/7. “Alright, so, tell me what your grand plan was, then,” Shaw said, motioning for Root to elaborate, a mocking edge sharpening her tone, “Enlighten me on how it would’ve worked out _so_ much better if you had hit that override button instead.”

Shaw was a visual-spatial person. One of her skills was seeing things in her head, imagining them before they happened, playing out the battlefield while she was roaming it.

She didn’t have a tough time imagining Root in her mind’s eye, prying her gun from her hand, rushing forward with only that red, vibrant override button in mind, shooting where The Machine directed her to.

And, then, they wouldn’t have a direct connection to The Machine anymore.

Faltering, Root just stared at her, fidgeting when the words wouldn’t come out. “There… was no grand plan,” she admitted, finally, looking quite defeated, “But, it’d be best if it had been me.” Shaw rolled her eyes, frowning at the lack of logic in the other woman’s words. Well, at least, she was consistently irrational.

”Why?” Shaw didn’t try to stop the angry edge that crept into her voice. She felt like a predator, almost, a hungry lion looking for answers from the gazelle. Except that the gazelle wasn’t even running, wasn’t even providing much of a challenge. “Why you? Huh? Why does it _have_ to be you? Your life?” The rage set off in her limbs, flowing through her body as easily as blood. Abruptly, Shaw stood and set her chair back where it belonged, at the dining table, taking care to shove it in place to complement her wrath. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Root flinching at the action. It would’ve been a reaction to savor, had they not been in the situation they currently were stuck in.

Stalking over to Root, Shaw sized her up, resisting the urge to frown when Root averted her eyes and edged even closer to the wall. That wasn’t helping her analogy of predator and prey, especially since Shaw _knew_ Root wasn’t prey at all. The Root she knew, the one she remembered from before her hostage situation with Samaritan, wasn’t like this at all. Sometimes, maybe, Shaw caught a glimpse of that worry, that high anxiety and concern that irked her, but for the most part, Root was just… Root. Off-kilter, cunning, efficient, predatory when she wanted to be. This Root was something else - _someone_ else, entirely.

”Answer me,” she ordered, harshly, clenching her jaw in irritation.

”Because, then, it’s _worth_ something!” Root snapped, her voice cracking as she turned away from Shaw and back toward the window. Her eyes took on a glazed, distant stare, glass-eyed and unfocused; Shaw grimaced, knowing she had lost Root to whatever The Machine was buzzing in her ear about.

Shaw’s features softened a fraction as she _tried_ to take Root into consideration, and she shut her eyes, forcing herself to take a few, slow breaths to calm down. Agitating Root would probably lead to nothing except, well, tears, maybe. And Shaw did _not_ want crying around here, not while she was around.

Huffing out an irritated breath, she trudged away from Root, leaving the brunette to stand by her lonesome at the window (Shaw had no doubt that Root _wasn’t_ alone - that damn Machine was always beeping in her ear or whatever), and flopped down on the bed, eyeing the ceiling. An uneasy silence had descended on the room… not that Shaw particularly minded; she preferred the quietness of nonverbal communication as opposed to how talking just filled the air up with unnecessary words and feelings. Her ears perked up, however, as she heard the soft padding of paws coming from the bathroom and onto the hotel room carpet. Loud panting filled her ears as Bear warily approached the bedside and laid his jaw on the edge of the mattress, gently nudging Shaw’s side with his nose. A brief tingling flashed across her right side from the pressure, but she didn’t shift an inch and chose to lazily raise a hand to pet Bear instead. That, clearly, was the wrong thing to do as Bear accepted her motion of affection as an invitation to scramble onto the bed, trampling all over her abdomen with his paws.

”Jesus, Bear, _don’t_ -” she exclaimed through gritted teeth, hissing in pain as a paw hit one of the bruises on her side dead-on. Of course, Bear being a dog, he didn’t seem to really care and simply laid down on top of her, wagging his tail proudly. Asshole.

Being restricted to, well, not moving at all, given the weight of a giant dog on top of her small frame, Shaw wasn’t able to sit up and glare at Root, but she did manage to turn her head in the brunette’s general direction and scowl deeply as Root peered over at her, concerned.

”I’m fine, Root,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. Shaw received an amused chuckle in response, which might have been the closest thing to normal she was going to get from Root at the moment.

”Says the woman pinned to the bed by a dog.” Root teased, finally leaving her place by the window. She sauntered past the bed, keeping straight eye contact with Shaw.

”I think I’ll head out on a supply run. Anything specific you want?" There was a glint of mischief in her eyes, so for a moment, Shaw indulged her. For a moment.

"Sure," she answered, shrugging (despite some difficulty, given that Bear insisted on laying atop her still), "Handcuffs, a blindfold, a strap-on. Seven inches." Her expression remained neutral - almost as if she was listing off what she needed for groceries. "Matches and a lighter, if you're feeling particularly adventurous."

Honestly, Shaw was a tiny bit disappointed when Root didn't flat-out react in surprise, but she smirked at the slight widening of Root's eyes before it was replaced with casual flirtation. "Of course, _Sameen_ ," the brunette purred, "Anything you want."

What an infuriating asshole.

Root turned and started walking toward the door, taking her sweet, slow time. Shaw sighed and wiggled her hips, forcing Bear to crawl off of her. Settling beside her, he panted, drooling a fraction on her arm - she scowled at that - while staring at her expectantly.

”Dog treats,” she called out, keeping her gaze on Bear and feigning disinterest in the way Root immediately and attentively turned around (Shaw caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, however, and felt a small puff of proud victory rise in her chest), “A razor, shaving cream, and a gun so I can have something to _do_ around here while you play Captain Kirk out there.”

”Oh, now, Sam, you know I can’t do that.” Shaw looked at Root, who had crossed her arms, and raised an eyebrow, keeping her expression neutral, “Then find me something to keep myself occupied with otherwise I’ll check myself out.” She hadn’t expected Root to agree to giving her a gun, of course, but there had to be _something_ she could spend her time doing besides stare at the TV like a zombie and a monotonous routine of showering, eating, and sleeping.

Root smirked, walking closer to Shaw’s side of the bed while deliberately swaying her hips. Not that Shaw noticed the hip swaying, of course. Definitely not. She gave Root an aggressive glare as the brunette reached out and lightly brushed a fading cut on Shaw’s cheek with her thumb. “I’m sure I think of something for you to occupy your time with,” she murmured, flashing a suggestive grin, “Something that both of us could benefit from.”

Sufficiently annoyed, Shaw rolled her eyes and slapped Root’s hand away, letting her irritation fill the space between them. “Weren’t you about to leave?”

Plastering a sullen pout on her face (one that Shaw would never fall for, so it was a waste of time in her opinion), Root withdrew her hand and retreated to the door, “Fine, Sameen, I didn’t know you wanted me gone _that _badly.” She left shortly after, closing the door behind her, but not without leaving Shaw with a wink and a feeling of unease in her stomach. Their conversation hadn’t been properly finished, and Shaw had the feeling that it wouldn’t be for a long while. For every push she gave, Root would take a step back and recede into her corner.__

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Root’s footsteps loudly echoed as she descended the stairs into the section of the abandoned subway that was home. Well, not exactly home - not for her and not for a long while now. The last time she had been in here was months ago, and she had been a different woman then.

Finch was at his desk as usual; she’d caught him at the right time, done with his professor day-job cover, staring intently at the monitors on his desk. Presumably keeping an eye out for threats from Samaritan since, well, they were one person less in their ranks now. One hostage less, one point of leverage less. “Evening, Harold. How goes the night?” She sauntered up to his desk and obnoxiously leaned against the table, leaving herself in his line of vision and forcing him to divert his attention to her.

He breathed out a sigh and fixed her with an expressionless look, “Quiet, Ms. Groves. But, I presume, you’re not here to converse about just that.” Finch glanced at his computer and made a few clicks on his keyboard before fully turning his chair to face Root. “The comms are momentarily off. Ms. Shaw won’t be witness to… whatever it is you came here to say.”

Root smiled at him, but it wasn’t a truly sweet smile, only the pretense of one. “Oh, Harry, always one step ahead of the ball, aren’t you? I’m touched that you can read my mind.”

As usual, Finch didn’t make any move to take any of her joking - teasing, more like it - manner to heart and frowned minutely, “Well, it would only be logical since you volunteered to be the one to check up on Ms. Shaw’s wellbeing. And, considering the severity of what has transpired, I take it you haven’t filled Ms. Shaw in on your side of what the past few months have been like, have you?”

Mm, right. That would prove a problem, most likely soon, but Root left those thoughts for future Root to handle. “That information isn’t incredibly vital for Shaw to know right now, Harold, and I’d suggest you not tell her, either.”

Finch shook his head and fixed his glasses as they slipped down nose, “Now, Ms. Groves, you’re a grown woman. Things as… heavy as the weight you carry on your shoulders are meant to be shared by you. It’s up to you to decide when and whether to leave Ms. Shaw in the dark or take her out of it, and it’s only for you to deal with whatever consequences may come because of your actions.” He gave her a moment to let that sink in and glanced her up and down, “I must commend you on cleaning up so hastily, Ms. Groves. I was convinced that you were too far gone to even contribute to our plan to rescue Ms. Shaw.”

At that, Root scoffed and rolled her eyes, “That’s what you think of me? I’m insulted. I went rogue until I couldn’t go any further, but that doesn’t mean I gained some abundance of stupidity. I never said I wouldn’t help if you guys finally got your senses together and decided to get something done about our missing comrade.”

The next words sounded rather difficult for Finch to express - his voice was weary as if he’d spent too much time thinking about it and didn’t want to dwell on the topic any longer. “We waited because that was the right thing to do. Putting a plan into action any earlier could have brought upon us disastrous results. It wasn’t pleasant watching you go off on your own to hunt down leads that sstopped at brick walls.”

She knew what else he didn’t say. That it hurt him to see her tearing herself apart for false leads. “At least I cared,” she spat out, “At least I never gave up.”

”I _cared_ , Ms. Groves. Ms. Shaw is important to me, just as you are. But there was nothing we could do at that time, with our limited resources and outnumbered manpower. What could ever possess you to think that risking your life over and over again to find her, possibly dead, was a sensible idea? Certainly not logic, I hope.” His voice definitely gave off the impression that he did care. Strained. Eyes slightly widened with stress, staring sadly at her.

Root recalled Beth Bridges’ hotel room. How she had panicked and the fear she felt when Finch had swallowed that poison.

Root wanted to feel some sort of resentment toward him for giving up so easily on Shaw. But, Shaw wouldn’t have been offended, wouldn’t be offended now if Root had told her how she and Finch had fallen out for a brief time because of this. She wanted to hold onto anger, because at least anger kept her head clear. Sadness just… drowned her thoughts. Made her head feel murky and weighted.

”You know what possessed me, Harold.”

_If the worst comes to pass… if you could give Shaw a message?_

_I think she already knows._

Did she?

Finch let his silence say all it needed to. “Was that it, Ms. Groves?”

She let out a sigh, “Yes, Harry, that was it… However, Shaw’s asked me to find a way to keep her occupied. I was thinking maybe she could help out with numbers from her room. Ease you off of all your computer work so you can focus on your cover when you need to. Otherwise she’d probably nag me for a gun every hour of the day. Maybe even knock me out for one if I don’t give her something to do, who knows.”

Finch mulled over the thought for a moment and then nodded, handing her a laptop next laying next to his keyboard, “Very well. Tell her that I’m aware she most likely wishes to be out on the field as soon as possible but it’s too soon.”

Root couldn’t help the laugh that escaped from her lips as she tucked the laptop underneath her arm and headed toward the exit, “Oh, she’ll definitely be _overjoyed_ to hear that.”

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Shaw was halfway through the 2009 Star Trek movie on one of the channels she had stumbled upon when Root came back to the room with a laptop tucked under one arm and grocery bags in both hands. She fixed Shaw with a sly grin and set the bags down on the kitchen counter and the laptop on the desk, “I brought you more food, Sameen. The way to your heart, right?”

”Once again, in your dreams, Root.” she muttered with an eyeroll. Shaw left the TV on and got up from the bed, giving Bear a light scratch on the head as he stayed sprawled out over the comforter. She shifted through the bags, briefly examining their contents - boxes of frozen, processed foods for the most part, such as hamburger sliders, mozzarella sticks… literally everything from the frozen section that Root could probably find in bulk. God, she was going to have to teach Root how to shop for food. Shaw found the razor and shaving cream she had sent Root out for in the last bag, along with several new sets of clothes and undergarments, all in her size. “Planning on me keeping here awhile, huh?”

”Oh, Sameen,” Root started in a slightly pouting tone, moving to stand directly behind Shaw to the point of pressing their bodies together (Shaw growled low in her throat, which Root blatantly, and probably eagerly, ignored), “ _Keeping_ is such a strong word. Think of this as a honeymoon and you’ll just be visiting for some time into the foreseeable future.”

A honeymoon. Ugh. ”You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Root only chuckled in response. Using her small stature to her advantage, Shaw slipped out of the spot where she was basically pinned between Root and the counter and ducked into the bathroom to leave the razor and shaving cream on the bathroom counter for later. She returned to Root putting away all the food into the freezer and grabbed the clothes bag for herself, starting on organizing them in the closet.

Shaw turned to exit the closet and ran straight into Root, who had a smug smirk on her face as she caught Shaw by the shoulders, ”By the way, sweetie, I brought you something to keep you busy. A laptop, courtesy of Glasses himself, so you can work on numbers here.”

Pulling herself roughly out of Root’s grasp, Shaw gritted her teeth and brushed past Root. “I don’t want to be doing computer work, Root. I don’t wanna be stuck _here_ all day long.”

”Well, that’s just too bad, Sameen.” There was a certain absence of playfulness in Root’s tone, and Shaw felt the atmosphere shift into a more serious sense. She turned around and caught Root’s concern before the brunette averted her gaze quickly to hide it. “This is for your safety. You may not care about what happens to you but…”

”There are others who do. People who care about me,” Shaw finished when Root trailed off. The words tasted metallic on her tongue. She remembered a time that seemed so long ago now. A cover blown. A hand on her arm. The realization that that concern on Root’s face - the same concern Shaw had just seen now - it was _very_ real. Not out of politeness or obligation because they were a team. Not even the same concern that Shaw was sure she’d see on Reese or Finch or Fusco’s face. It was different. It was fear.

_I’m not scared._

_Well, maybe you should be._

”What happened, Root?”

The woman was taken aback by the question and straightened when Shaw raised an eyebrow at her. “To what?”

”To you. What happened to _you_?”

Instead of answering, Root busied herself by shutting the closet door and made a point of walking past Shaw without letting their bodies touch. Shaw’s gaze followed her as she took a seat at the desk, slumping down in the chair. Root picked up the notepad and pen and scribbled something on the paper - presumably another hash mark for Shaw - before answering. And, when she did, she didn’t meet Shaw’s eyes.

”I don’t know, Sameen.”

When Root finally met her eyes, Shaw was positive that the woman across the room from her wasn’t the one she had left in the Stock Exchange, although whether this was Samantha Groves or Root or someone else was still to be seen.

”You were gone for a long time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I'm rambling a ton in the notes, today, aren't I? But, this is just kinda a reference, I guess. For anyone who cares to keep up with it, I'll be jotting down Shaw and Root's tally marks in the end notes of every chapter.
> 
>  **Root:** II  
>  **Shaw:** III
> 
> It might just be me (because I can tell since I wrote it lol), but it's very possible that there's a huge difference between when I stopped writing this draft in, like, spring and when I started writing it again this week.


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